When it comes to pain, there are countless ways to hurt. There are some people in this world that have suffered through physical punishment after punishment. Many of those people have lower than normal IQs and might coincidentally be professional football players. Other people have taken mental agony repetitively. Many of those people are just unlucky. The last and least common type are people that have suffered emotionally. Those are the people that I want to talk about. People like me.



I’ve taken punishments in my life. I’ve lost fights, and I’ve won them too. I’ve been hit by a speeding golf ball. I’ve suffered through hours of spiels from teachers with incredible amounts of bias influencing them. Sheer lack of logic is the most common cause of mental pain. Most of that comes from incompetent people in higher ranking positions, pretending that they know everything that there is. Those pains can pass. The pain of emotion will cause a slash; a deep, deep cut on your soul.


The pain of losing loved ones? That’s the root of emotional pain. I feel empathy of the deepest humanly possible degree for anyone that has any idea what I’m talking about. For anyone not having read my previous works, I’ve lost a friend. I lost a very close friend to cancer. I was truly beginning to recover. The source of recovery from that hideous fate? Friends. Friends kept me going. My friends have held me up and comforted me in the aisle of a church as I cried, They’ve placed their hands on my back as I thought that I had healed, and thought that I was ready to read an old photo album of my friend. I wasn’t ready.


If you’ve felt that cut on your soul, you know what I’m talking about. That pain, it doesn’t leave, it feels like nothing will staunch the very vital energy that flows from that wound. I just recently lost one of my primary reasons for my recovery. My close friend AJ was an amazing walking stick for my path to recovery. For some reason, whatever God that there is, I’m inclined to believe in the Christian God myself, although I really don’t know, decided to take that cane, that vital support away from me. One of my stitches in that wound was ripped away, and with it went the arm holding the staff.


I’m listless, I’m apathetic to my friends grievances. I sit mildly and watch the clock run out. I’m shocked. The being that made that gaping cut came back for more. That sword that can’t be ignored reopened the old wound and took an arm. I don’t know what to do. I’ll stand quietly as my friends discuss whatever they will. I’m a prisoner of my own head. I don’t know what I’m going to do, what I’ll support myself with. I don’t know whether or not I’ll tumble back down the path and sit there, without a prayer of aid. I’m a plant that spent time in a closet, but was pulled out by a series of warm, kind hands, and placed on a windowsill and watered, but now I’ve been hurled straight back in and had the door slammed behind me.